Miles To Go

by Beryl Young

  Joe nudges me and says quietly, “As long as he doesn’t drink it all away.”

  Maggie

  FRIDAY, MAY 14, AND SATURDAY, MAY 15

  IT’S SCHOOL ASSEMBLY and the weekly announcements this morning. Our principal strides to the stage, straightens up, and runs his hand over the front of his pants. He does it every time to make sure he hasn’t left his fly open. Jerry looks at me and raises his eyebrows.

  “What a jerk!” I whisper.

  Jerry’s eyes crinkle at the corners. For the rest of the morning we grin every time we look at each other.

  At lunchtime, Carolyn comes up to me and asks why I’m eating alone. “You can eat with me if you want. Now that you don’t have the poor country girl to eat with.”

  “Are you referring to Anna?” I say.

  “Well, she’s the only one of your friends who lives on a farm. And it’s not hard to tell with those shabby clothes she wears.”

  “How dare you say that! It doesn’t matter what anyone wears!” The words explode out of me. “Anna is the smartest girl in the class. She beats you in every subject, and you know it!”

  “Well, that brother of hers, Berny, isn’t very smart. I heard he can hardly read.”

  “Berny is so smart, and he’s a good kid. You’re a snob.”

  Carolyn keeps trying, but there’s nothing she can do to make me like her more than I like Anna. Anna is the true friend of my heart.

  Carolyn sails off in a huff, her chin in the air. My heart is pounding, and I know my voice was too loud, because Jerry stares over at me from the table where he’s eating lunch.

  Later, he crosses the room and sits down beside me. “Good one with Carolyn.”

  “I try.”

  “Have you finished your project?”

  “Got it in today. I missed Anna’s help. I wrote the report in a rush and it ended up messy.”

  “When’s Anna coming back to school?”

  “She has to stay home to look after her little sisters and the baby.”

  “Will she ever come back?”

  “Maybe not until the baby grows up.” For the first time I realize how long that will be.

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It isn’t fair.”

  “What’s fair anyway?” Jerry says. “How about going for a bike ride on Saturday? I’m doing my project on coyotes and I want to see some. I thought we could take the hill by the upper field.”

  Sounds like my kind of adventure. “Sure. I’ll bring my four sharp eyes.”

  Jerry laughs at that.

  If you wear glasses you might as well make fun of them.

  After lunch, Miss Alexander assigns us a book report to write. We settle down with our notebooks. I’m in the middle of writing a sentence when an eraser flies through the air and hits the blackboard with a thump. I saw it come from the side of the room, but I didn’t see who threw it. Miss Alexander picks up the eraser, a look of surprise on her face. She looks at Carolyn, who sits across from me.

  “Your name is on this eraser, Carolyn. I’m shocked that you would throw an eraser.”

  “I didn’t, Miss Alexander,” Carolyn protests. “I didn’t throw it.”

  I know she didn’t. I’m sitting right across from her and I saw the eraser come from over by the windows. In fact, from Jerry’s row.

  “Who did throw this eraser?” Miss Alexander asks.

  No one answers. The room is electric.

  Miss Alexander sighs and says, “Stay after school, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn puts her hands over her face to hide her crying. I know she didn’t throw it. I should say something.

  “Back to work everyone,” Miss Alexander says.

  Then it’s too late for me to speak up.

  “WHERE ARE YOU and Jerry going on your bikes?” Mom asks.

  “Just around town,” I say.

  “Be home for lunch, please,” Mom says. “Noon. Sharp.”

  “Okay, Mom. I’m wearing my watch.”

  She could say, “Have a good time.” But that wouldn’t be my mother.

  Jerry and I meet in the lane behind the barracks garage.

  “Hey, almost twin bikes,” Jerry says, pointing to my bike. It’s a CCM like his, but mine is red and his is green.

  He leads the way across a bridge over the river that runs north of the barracks. A row of narrow trees, bare against the sky, march like giant skeletons along the far side of the river. They remind me of my foot bones inside the x-ray machine in the Front Street shoe store. It’s amazing to be able to see through your skin to your bones. It’s like looking inside a man who seems completely normal and seeing what’s hidden underneath. Even the fact that he murdered his own baby.

  We ride beside the river and head up the bumpy gravel road, standing on our bike pedals and pumping hard with the wind sharp in our faces. Jerry’s hair blows back, making it look as though he’s swimming. The wind pushes against me, and my legs feel strong as I pedal hard.

  Out of breath, we stop. Jerry suggests we cut through the hay field. We lift our bikes over the fence and ride along the bumpy tire tracks left by the farmer’s tractor. Light-coloured hay stretches into the distance. The sun has broken through the clouds, dappling in light and shadow across the field of blond hay.

  I call to Jerry, “Don’t you think it looks like yellow sand on a beach?”

  “Never seen the ocean. Have you?” Jerry calls back.

  “No, but I will one day!” I yell back at him.

  The sun feels hot on my back as I follow Jerry. I could ride for miles and miles—until I get to the ocean.

  Ahead of us, a large bird dives to the ground and then soars back into the sky.

  “Hawk!” Jerry says. “Red-tailed hawk.”

  We keep going, stopping to catch our breath at the next fence. Across the field I spot five antelopes bending their broad necks to feed.

  “Look!” I say quietly, pointing them out to Jerry. The antelopes don’t notice us. We study their long black faces, the curving horns, the white bands around their tawny chests.

  Jerry says, “They look so proud standing there.”

  I hold out my arms and whisper to them, “You’re beauties.” Then I wonder if Jerry thinks I sound silly.

  But he opens his arms like mine and calls across to the antelopes, “We’re lucky to see you here today.”

  Suddenly, the antelopes turn and run, bounding across the field. Their hind ends flash white as they twist like braiding around each other until they’re out of sight over the next curve.

  And we’re alone. We lean against our bikes, with nothing but the expanse of field and sky around us, and I feel my heart opening. The way the minister at Gram’s funeral said it would. It’s as though my heart has grown wider, wide enough to be sad and still have space for this feeling of awe at being so close to these wild animals.

  Oh, Gram. Gram.

  I turn my head and hope that Jerry doesn’t see me wipe my eyes. I want to keep this special feeling tight inside me.

  Jerry pulls two apples out of his pack and tosses one to me. I crunch into the apple and the sweet juice bursts in my mouth. I eat right down to the core and spit the seeds into the air.

  Deep Creek is spread out below us. The streets in town are laid out like crossed ladders, the three grain elevators sticking up like toy blocks. A line of dust on the far side marks the east road out of town. This is where we’re from, this small, tidy place that looks like a toy town, a place where little children run their play cars. And I’m standing here beside a boy with no one else around.

  “You’ve got a little brother, haven’t you?” Jerry spits his seeds farther than mine.

  “Tommy. He’s one big pain in the neck.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having a brother. It’s no fun being an only child.”

  “He’s all yours.”

  “Give the kid a break,” Jerry says.

  I change the subject. “Did you know a murderer tried to commit suicide underneath my
bedroom?”

  “I heard my mother talking about that guy! She said he shot his wife and threw his baby in the well. He couldn’t live with what he’d done, so he tried to kill himself.”

  “I feel sick to my stomach thinking about that. Killing a baby—a baby like Anna’s—so small and helpless. And in a well where some people drown kittens!”

  “I think it’s neat you live on top of criminals,” Jerry says.

  “Bank robbers are okay, but murderers are creepy.”

  Actually, I don’t like either of them, but I have to live up to my status as a policeman’s daughter.

  I look at Jerry. “Did you throw the eraser at school yesterday?”

  “No, it was Ernie beside me. What a jerk.”

  “I felt sorry for Carolyn. She was upset.”

  “I thought you didn’t like her.”

  “I don’t much.”

  “She only had to stay after school. No big deal.” Jerry shrugs and turns back to cross the field.

  I don’t think I should tell him that I knew it wasn’t Carolyn and didn’t say anything.

  We lift our bikes over the fence and we’re back on the road to town. I jump on and pedal down the hill ahead of Jerry. Going fast like this, I feel strong enough to conquer the world.

  When we get to the lane I look at my watch and see it’s almost twelve-thirty. “I’d better go.”

  Jerry looks at me shyly and says, “I still want to see those coyotes. Feel like going out again?”

  “Sure do,” I say.

  BACK IN THE house, Mom’s top lip is tight. I know what that means.

  “Have you forgotten how to tell time, Maggie?”

  “Sorry, Mom. We had such a great ride and we saw five beautiful antelopes!”

  “Antelope. The word antelope is plural as well as singular. Five antelope. You said you and Jerry were just riding around town.”

  “We decided to go to the hill at the top field instead. It wasn’t far.”

  “You’re late for lunch. Wash your hands.”

  I wish she’d ask me about the antelopes instead of correcting my grammar.

  Instead she says, “I got a call from Mrs. Dougherty. The music examiner from the Toronto Conservatory of Music will be in Deep Creek next week. You’ll have to practise twice a day now until the exam.”

  “I’m ready for the exam, Mom. I don’t need any more practice.”

  “Not the way your scales sounded this morning.”

  I say it quietly, but I say it. “You’re mean.”

  “I heard that,” she says. “It was rude.”

  I decide that when I’m in the house, I have to do what Mom says. But when I’m out riding my bike, I can do whatever I want. And I can think whatever I want. I’ll call them antelopes if I want to.

  LATER, I TAKE our encyclopedia to bed and read about pronghorn antelope. They can run sixty miles an hour. Even baby pronghorns can run faster than a human being. I’ll tell Jerry that when we go biking again.

  Through my window I can see new leaves starting to open on the big maple tree. Another spring is coming. It’s three years since we came to Deep Creek, and so much has happened. I made best friends with Anna and now I never see her. Gram, my special Gram, has died and I’ll never see her again. And I’ve become even more confused wondering if I really am adopted. In one way, I badly want to find out, but in another way, I don’t want it to be true. It would change everything. And one thing bothers me. How could I explain feeling so close to Dad?

  At least I have a bike ride to look forward to. It suits the adventurous spirit in me. I want to see new things, to ride fast and take chances. I have a new friend who likes adventures too. And my new friend is a boy.

  I fall asleep dreaming of riding to the top of the hill, standing next to Jerry and watching the elegant antelope in their winding dance across the golden field.

  Anna

  TUESDAY, MAY 18

  I HEAR A car drive up early in the morning and look out to see two women wearing hats walking up to the door. My heart sinks. It’s the church ladies. Mama was on their list of people to visit and now they’ve come to check on me. How dare those women come snooping around, clucking like old hens and judging what they see in our house. I don’t want their sympathy.

  The girls are still at the breakfast table in their nightgowns. I’m tempted to pretend no one is home when they knock, but Helen and Lucy run to the door and open it. The church ladies, white gloves and all, are inspecting the peeling paint on the side of the house.

  “Aren’t you cuties?” they say to Helen and Lucy.

  Lucy reaches up for the parcel one woman is holding.

  “What did you bring us?” Helen asks.

  “That’s not polite,” I say, moving the girls to the side. “Sorry. We don’t have visitors very often.”

  “I’m Mrs. Harris and this is Mrs. Hayes,” says the woman with the parcel. She’s wearing a tall round hat that looks like a bird’s nest. She walks right into the kitchen.

  “We brought you oatmeal cookies,” says Mrs. Hayes, smiling at the girls. Her hat is orange with a green feather sticking out of the top.

  “Can we have a cookie now?” Helen asks.

  Mrs. Harris frowns. “I think not. You should wait until after lunch.”

  Helen sulks, and then grabs Lucy’s hand and leads her over to play with the cat on the floor.

  “Come and sit down.” I point to the worn couch in our living room, which is really just part of the kitchen. They sit side by side, as stiff as fence posts, adjusting their skirts.

  I don’t intend to offer them tea. I remember another visit of church women when Mama served tea. I saw them exchange looks over the chipped cups.

  “This is Bella,” I say. I turn Bella on my lap so they can see her.

  “A dear baby,” says Mrs. Hayes.

  “Is she sleeping through the night?” Mrs. Harris asks.

  They’re not going to find out anything to spread around town. “Oh yes, she does. She hardly ever cries,” I assure them.

  Helen bursts in. “She cries a whole lot. We don’t mind. We love her.”

  “Owie,” Lucy says. She points to a purple bruise on her forehead.

  “Did you hurt your head, little girl?” Mrs. Hayes says.

  Helen says, “Her name’s Lucy.”

  “Lucy had a small fall,” I say. I’m not going to tell them that two days ago Lucy fell partway down the stairs and screamed for half an hour. “She’s fine. She bruises easily.”

  Mrs. Hayes stops staring at Lucy and turns to me. “Are you managing all right, Anna? You don’t have anyone to help, do you?”

  “Oh, yes. Papa and the boys. When the boys get home from school they help with everything.”

  “Your Papa’s around in the day, is he?”

  “Can we have a cookie now?” Helen asks.

  Lucy pushes herself up from the floor. “Uh-hum.”

  I stand too. “I’d better feed Bella. She’s due for her bottle.”

  The women get up from the sofa, and Mrs. Harris says, “Is there anything we can do for you?” She straightens her awful hat and looks at the door.

  I shake my head. I can’t see either of them hauling water and washing dirty diapers wearing their hats and good dresses. It’s not as if they’d get down on their knees and scrub the kitchen floor.

  “You know,” says Mrs. Hayes, “if it’s too difficult for you to care for the new baby, the Welfare Department can put her in a foster home. That is, if they feel you can’t manage.”

  What? I’d never heard of that. Surely no one could take Bella away from us!

  Papa wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t allow it.

  I try to make my voice sound confident. “We’re managing very well. We miss Mama, of course, but I have lots of help. Thank you for coming.”

  They’re out the door and driving away before I can steady my breath. I saw them looking at the dirty dishes on the table and the girls still in their nightgowns. I�
�m sure they’ll gossip all over town. If that’s what people who go to church do, I never intend to go back.

  When I’m certain the car’s gone, I dress the girls and take them outside with me while I hang up the diapers. There’s just enough sun to get them dry.

  The girls and I play tag. Poor little Lucy keeps tripping when she tries to run and she doesn’t get the “hide” part of hide and seek. She stands there in plain view, covering her eyes and thinking I can’t see her. Helen gets it and pulls Lucy behind the washing shed with her. Then I pretend to find them both.

  A wonderful thing happens while we’re outside. I hear it first and then see it. Circling high above us is not a hawk, but the first spring meadowlark. With the song I love, the lark’s beautiful bubbly whistle. The meadowlark circles around, coming lower and lower to land on the post near our barn, so close we can see the black necklace on the bird’s yellow breast.

  “Do you hear that song?” I ask the girls. “Mama used to say the meadowlark was sending a message.”

  Helen asks, “What does the message say?”

  “It says, I was here a year ago. I was here a year ago. Can you hear it?”

  “I think I can,” Helen says.

  We watch until the meadowlark flies back up into the sky and disappears.

  After lunch, I put Bella in her cradle and lie down for a sleep on the couch with the girls. Thoughts of the Welfare Department taking Bella away keep me awake.

  There’s a knock on the door. I freeze. Have the church ladies come back with someone from the Welfare Department? I didn’t hear a car. It must be Mrs. Covey who’s walked over from her place.

  It is. And she’s brought some wooden blocks her boys have finished playing with.

  “I thought Helen and Lucy would like them,” she says. “I’ll put the water on for tea, shall I?”

  “I’ll get Bella’s bottle ready.”

  I wipe the girls’ noses and settle them down in the corner to play with the blocks.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Covey. The girls don’t have blocks.”

  I pour the tea, and Mrs. Covey says, “Let me feed Bella so you can enjoy your tea.”